


5. Popsicle

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Food, How Do I Tag, Kinktober, M/M, Messy, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Popsicles, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: popsicleGeralt was not ready.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 4
Kudos: 240





	5. Popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> Just... soft boys. You're welcome.

"Geralt, come here, you _have_ to try this!"

Geralt sighs and rolls his eyes, handing a coin to the merchant in exchange for the apples he bought for Roach. The enthusiasm in his bard's voice means he probably found something frilly and stupid, an indulgence neither of them need, and Geralt is not in the mood. He's hot, he's sweating even though he has shed as much of his armour as he feels comfortable with given that they're in a town, and he just wants to get back to the inn to wash all of this filth off of himself.

He forgets that train of thought the second he turns around.

The first thing that hits him is the scent of peaches. Fresh, cool and sweet, as perfect as a peach can be. He breathes in deeper, and beneath that is the scent of Jaskier's delight.

The second thing is the sight of Jaskier's lips, wrapped around... _something_. It looks absolutely indecent, and the sounds (gods, the _sounds_!) the man is making are not helping in the slightest.

"What is that," he croaks as he crosses the little path between the stalls, eyes fixed on Jaskier's mouth.

"A new invention from the south, sir Witcher," the merchant says with a smile that says she knows exactly what is going on in his head. He scowls at her, and her smile widens a little. "We take only the freshest, ripest fruit, grind it into mush, add a little sugar, and freeze it. I know a mage who helps us with that." She picks up another of the confections, a small frozen... thing on a wooden stick, and holds it out to him. "You got rid of the drowners, didn't you? Have this on the house. Yours too, bard."

Jaskier is now _lapping_ at the sweet, and Geralt takes the proffered confection blindly. It is very cold, radiating out from the little block of frozen fruit. "Thank you kindly," he says, unable to tear his gaze away from Jaskier, from the way his lips stretch around the thing as he sucks on it, from the look of pure pleasure on his face.

The woman's voice has a knowing tone to it when she tells him, "It's called a popsicle."

He gives her a little bow as he takes Jaskier by the elbow and leads him away from the stall, the bard still making those sinful little noises. Once they're out of sight, he brings his own popsicle to his mouth and gives it an experimental lick.

It is good, if a little on the sweet side, but the cold soothes him in a way that reminds him of sliding into a lake, the heat of summer receding at least a little.

Then he makes the mistake of looking at Jaskier again, and he feels hot all over.

Jaskier's popsicle is half melted at this point, and there's juice dripping down his chin, down his fingers, and he's lapping at it with glee, pure happiness radiating off of him. There's an almost childlike obliviousness to him, completely unaware of how he looks, sucking on the vaguely phallus shaped thing, and Geralt licks his lips which are suddenly very dry.

The bard looks up at him once he's finished, smiling with lips dewy with spit and frozen peach, then says, "You should eat yours, it's starting to melt."

He looks down at his hand, realising that the juice has indeed started sliding down, over his fingers and his palm. It's cold, and sticky. "It's too sweet for me," he says, and Jaskier smiles wider.

"Can I have it?"

"Hm," he replies, and holds his hand out for the bard to take the thing off of him.

Instead, Jaskier drops his own wooden stick somewhere behind him, takes a hold of Geralt's wrist and pulls him along gently, until they're in a little alley, out of the way of the townspeople.

Jaskier's fingers are slim but strong, callouses on his fingertips making Geralt grimace with how he has to fight back a laugh as they slide over the soft inside of his wrist, tickling, and Jaskier doesn't let go for some reason. He takes the popsicle from him, then tugs Geralt's hand up to his eye level, and-

Geralt makes a broken, surprised sound as the bard leans in, pink tongue snaking out to lick up the juice running across his palm, up his fingers. His eyes are closed, and he smells absolutely delicious. "What are you _doing,_ " he croaks, and Jaskier looks up at him.

"Why, cleaning you up of course. Can't let any of this delicacy go to waste, now can I?" And he goes back to licking up the juice, not stopping until Geralt's hand is clean, or at least not quite as sticky anymore.

Geralt's trousers have become uncomfortably tight, and he shifts, pulls his hand out of Jaskier's hand. "That's enough," he says, voice rough, and a flicker of... something passes over the bard's face. "Eat your... popsicle," he says, mouth twisting with the unfamiliar word, "I don't want you dripping that stuff all over the inn."

Jaskier hums, straightening as he lifts his hand. There's now juice running down his fingers, and he brings it to his mouth, licking a broad stripe up the side of the popsicle, his eyes never leaving Geralt's. "No," he breathes, "wouldn't want me _dripping_ , would we," and he sucks the confection into his mouth.

Geralt growls, deep in his chest, and the bard smiles around his sweet. Then he turns and saunters down the alley, in the direction of the inn, waving the popsicle for emphasis.

"Coming?"


End file.
